


Takeout Lives (or, The Turkey Effect)

by missanotherboat



Category: Law & Order
Genre: Comfort Food, Developing Friendships, Flashbacks, Gen, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 11:08:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12431523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missanotherboat/pseuds/missanotherboat
Summary: "Most people wait until Christmas to let it flow – memories, guilt, joy pain – but I should have known you wouldn’t be caught dead in a conventional depression."





	Takeout Lives (or, The Turkey Effect)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sidewinder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewinder/gifts).



> Spoilers for more or less the entire run of the original _Law & Order_.

I

Everyone else had gone home long ago, Adam wearing a face of relief even brighter than the cheerful red of his winter hat. Claire had offered a “Happy Thanksgiving” as he sauntered to the elevator.

“Aren’t you going home?” he asked, holding the door open with one hand and gesturing to her with the other.

Claire shook her head and gripped her coffee cup a little tighter. “I just thought I’d get a little extra work done before I left.” She smiled, and shifted a folder from one arm to the other. “Vacation disrupts my flow.”

Adam nodded knowingly, a half-chuckle escaping his lips. “Neither of us are new to this, Claire, but can I offer you a little advice?” She nodded, and he let the door go. “Don’t let liberal guilt keep you from taking well-deserved vacation. And Happy Thanksgiving.”

She shook her head and looked around. Only a few lights were still on, and most of them were in Jack’s office. There were plenty of things she hated about her line of work, but constantly getting thrown into high-stress situations with people she didn’t know had to be near the top. Adam was easy enough to communicate with, but she had only just adjusted to working with Ben by the time he took off.

Claire had restarted that long and painful process before Jack even started. Once he did, she grew accustomed to sneaking looks at him through the open door of his office during the day, hoping to see some small detail that would have told her everything she needed to know about him. It never did.

She gave a gentle knock before she walked in. Jack was standing, taking a final fleeting glance at the papers piled on his desk as he shrugged his leather jacket onto his shoulders. He had made a habit of changing in the office, and Claire found herself likening it to Mr. Rogers, if Mr. Rogers had been an attorney who hadn’t fully let go his teenaged punkdom.

“Claire.” He smiled when he said her name, and she smiled back. She was surprised by how much she liked working with him. When she first saw him – the vision of salt and pepper dignity most men can only dream of – she was concerned that he might be the type to insist on calling her “Miss Kincaid,” whether to infantilize or legitimize her. She was happy to be wrong.

She handed him the folder and hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed when he discovered that its slightness didn’t correspond with its importance. “It’s only a couple of pages but the type is exceptionally small.”

Jack leafed through the pages before tossing it onto his desk and taking a seat. “I hope I’ll be able to read it, then. I know it may shock you, but I’m older than I look.”

Claire smirked. “But you have such a youthful energy. Like a rabid golden retriever.”

He chuckled and then sighed, running a hand over his face. He pulled off his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair. “So much for a pleasant vacation.”

“Are you going home?” she asked. It was late, and she had long ago undone the top button of her blouse. It suddenly felt a little too intimate, however, and she crossed her arms to compensate.

He shook his head, his eyes darting across the pages at lightning speed. “Afraid not. Family relations have never exactly been my strong suit.” He looked up at her. “How about you?”

“To my father’s.” She sighed. “I love him, but I think you might be onto something with this solo holiday business.”

Jack laughed. “It’s a self-help book waiting to happen. And given the size of this folder, it’ll continue to wait.”

The office was silent except for the occasional rustle of copy paper. Claire stood to leave, Adam’s words echoing in her mind every extra minute she stayed.

“Claire?”

She turned back around.

“Have a nice time,” he smiled.

She grinned back at him, her hands in her pockets, looking suddenly very young and bright-eyed. “You too, Jack.”

 

II

Jack trudged through the office doors, the wind whipping against his face and threatening to flip the hat off his head. He had to remind himself to walk rather than shuffle, or else risk ruining his shoes. He briefly regretted putting the motorcycle into semi-retirement, but he figured he was probably a little too old for it now. Probably a little too old for it the last few years he drove it, too.

The seasons had changed – as much change as could be expected from New York, anyway. The streets looked wintery, autumn long gone before Thanksgiving even had a chance to make its mark. He thought there was something sad about that, even if he had started thinking of the holiday as a hindrance rather than a break.

It wasn’t that Thanksgiving had never been good for him – his father was usually in better spirits that time of year, and Ellen came from a family of good cooks. Ten years ago – even five years ago – he would have begged for an off-day. But work had been his only constant companion, and he couldn’t go home to it if he was leaving it. He wondered, as he stepped into the elevator, if this was a product of his age or just a product of his circumstances.

Claire used to call it The Turkey Effect – the idea that every case that stretched past October 31st suffered because everyone involved was distracted by the holidays. He could remember the way her voice smiled as she pointed to a reporter during a recess. “I bet one half of his pad is notes and the other half is a list of places that might still have green Power Ranger toys.”

Jack smiled, taking a seat in his office. Life had happened so slowly, so gradually, that he had almost been able to ignore the fact that everything about his life had changed. He flipped open a folder. He knew the work would get done – it always did – but he wanted to spare his colleagues from the brunt of his feelings. The past had caused tension with Jamie. Abbie avoided discussing it all costs.

Serena was different. She looked at him strangely one days like. She understood that at his very core, Jack McCoy was a man who felt every emotion deeply. Perhaps too deeply, and too rapidly to process. She also understood that there were times when Jack could not be reached. She could ask him if he was okay, and he would nod, but there was a hollowness in his eyes that suggested he wasn’t looking at her. He looked past her.

He looked around his office. Outside was the humming of intent work. He imagined, briefly, that he could see them. Claire’s blazer draped across her chair. Adam looking on sagely, dropping sardonic wisdom between clear instructions. Takeout boxes and chopsticks perilously close to important briefs and notes.

The Chinese restaurant knew them by name. Jack always assumed his diet would straighten out after college, then assumed the same thing about law school, and then about adjusting to his first job. Some people were just destined to live takeout lives, he guessed.

Their conversations fluttered back to him in a flood. They talked about the case and their options, but sometimes they talked about the world. Sometimes the horror still got to them.

“Things have to change eventually,” Claire would say, head held high, her relaxed posture better than most people’s straightest position.

Adam interjected between bites of lo mein. “You don’t want things changing too much. If everyone did what was right, we’d all be out of jobs.”

Jack would wave a hand, sipping coffee from a paper cup. “Nothing really changes.”

He’d been talking about the law, but Adam laughed anyway. “Just you wait, Jack.”

 

III

He was glad that he had called before, as awkward as it had been. They were easily equals these days, but as Jack pulled into the driveway, it was difficult to shake the feeling that Adam was still his boss. Maybe Adam felt the same way. Jack was used to being looked at as though he was a wolf. Adam still looked at him like he was a puppy that needed to be housebroken.

Adam was standing on his front porch, wearing a robe over tartan pajama pants and a plain t-shirt. It was strange to see him in such a domestic environment, far from the city and out of uniform, but if anyone deserved a quiet retirement, it was Adam.

They stayed silent for a while, the wind whipping past their faces. Adam cleared his throat. “I take it you’ve been struggling.”

Jack nodded, shifting his feet uncomfortably. “I’m not even sure why.”

Adam smiled a gentle smile and stared into the distance. “I do.” He pulled his robe a little tighter. “I miss her, too.”

“It isn’t just that. It’s…” He paused as he struggled to find the right words. “Everything we know, everyone we love, all the work we’ve done…it’ll be gone someday. I can live with that. I just can’t shake the feeling that I’ve lived too long. That I’m being forced to watch it happen.”

Adam nodded, as if hearing a testimony and preparing to dispute. It was sometimes difficult for Jack to believe that this man had once been a fresh-faced attorney himself, arguing cases and getting things wrong. Jack never would have admitted it, but sometimes he felt like Adam must have been born knowing (or at least thinking he knew) everything.

“The grass always looks greener on the other side…” Adam trailed off and sighed. “Sometimes, that’s because it is.”

Jack started to say something, to remark on how the holidays made it hard or how it might have just been seasonal affective disorder or about how he wished time had healed enough wounds to keep him from driving forty-five minutes to Adam’s house in the dark on Thanksgiving. He didn’t. He just rubbed his hand across the back of his neck in exasperation.

Adam looked at the light streaming through his front door. He suddenly stood up. “You should eat something.”

The rain had subsided, and Jack lingered. Adam gave him a look. He followed. The gentle hum of the refrigerator was the only sound inside the house. Empty Tupperware and unwashed dished lined the counter.

“The only condition,” Adam warned in a half-whisper, “is that you keep quiet. My wife and more than a few of my heirs are crawling around, and while I’m not sure if they’re asleep yet, I’d rather not figure that out too late.”

Jack seated himself at the counter and watched as Adam retrieved a clean plate and a selection of covered bowls from the refrigerator. He quietly spooned out leftovers and waited dutifully by the microwave as they reheated.

He leaned against the counter and passed the plate to Jack, producing a plastic fork from the drawer. “I would offer you a drink, but you still have to drive yourself home, so this is the next best thing. It’s Thanksgiving, Jack. Eat. Be merry.”

Adam strolled over to the sink, rinsing mismatched dinner china and Scooby-Doo dessert plates. He placed them all on the rack and shook the excess water off his hands. “How does it feel to be old?”

Jack let out a laugh. “On one hand, the stress makes me feel alive, but it also makes me feel like I’m constantly knocking on death’s door.”

“At least he had the decency to invite you in tonight.” Adam wiped his hands on a dish towel as he turned to face Jack. “Listen, a person can’t keep their guard up all the time. Most people wait until Christmas to let it flow – memories, guilt, joy pain – but I should have known you wouldn’t be caught dead in a conventional depression. I like it.”

Jack feigned shock. “Adam Schiff supporting a Jack McCoy approach? What is the world coming to?”

Adam chuckled. “I could say the same thing about you being D.A.”

“Things change,” Jack shrugged.

“I think he’s got it,” Adam mumbled.

Taking this as his cue, Jack stood up. “Thank you.” He almost clarified that he was grateful for everything – his career, his friendship, his dinner – but he figured it went without saying. Adam smiled. It was a gesture he made often, but usually it came with a sardonic edge that wasn’t present now.

Jack left the house with a renewed vigor. He would get up in the morning, and he would get back to work when the time came. He would move forward, but he would also remember. The present always went by too fast to understand what was happening. Hindsight slowed seconds into moving portraits of life and love.

He would treasure late nights in the office poring over hopeless case files. Yelled arguments and inside jokes and whispered conversations before court. Inside jokes and the sound of his leather jacket rubbing against Claire’s when they rode his motorcycle. The sound of Adam’s laugh when he thought something was truly funny and the smell of Claire’s perfume lingering near his desk long after she was gone.

He would remember his past. Someday, he would remember this night.


End file.
